


To Himling: Part Sixteen

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [16]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21744772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: The Durin brothers cope with the aftermath of Kíli’s fall.  Others are pondering it too, and not kindly.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Ori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: To Himling [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429636
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive my absence. At least it's FiKi-related! Another part is ready to go and will be published later this week. 
> 
> (PS... I don't know why this is being automatically marked as Part 17 of the series, it really IS Part 16.)

Kíli’s eyes opened to pearl-blue midday light and Haya scowling at a book opened flat on her lap. When he stirred his limbs under the covers, she looked up and snapped the volume shut.

_Well, well,_ she smirked. _Stones_ do _awaken, praise Mahal._

She came to crouch by the bedside, and Kíli groped for a handful of her shawl. Its wool smelt of rosemary and pine oil over lanolin and milk; sharp on top of soft, curiously comforting.

We _all had to get up, Slugabed,_ Haya told him, kissing his knuckle. _Everyone else has better things to do than sleep. Don't you?_

Kíli shook his head.

_Can’t blame you. I’d curl up right here on the floor if I could, and nothing but an earthquake would wake me._ She laid her cheek next to his on the pallet and smiled her crooked smile. _Fenja makes plum porridge for no one else but you, you know. I'm supposed to tempt you to eat it. Will you?_

This time a nod.

_Not talking today?_

Kíli pulled Haya’s shawl closer to his face. Above it, his eyes appeared dull and tearful.

_Suit yourself._ Haya planted both hands on the pallet to hoist herself up, leaving her shawl behind. Striding to the desk where a covered tray waited, she called to Kíli over her shoulder. _We’re taking turns with you today, Ori and me._

_Mother?_ Kíli’s voice scraped like a rusty hinge. He had cried much, overnight.

_She’s giving news of you to the ladies so they'll stop asking,_ Haya replied. _Fíli’s gone to talk to the elders._ Either the porridge and tea had cooled, or her rough hands could no longer feel the sting of hot earthenware; without a thought, she balanced bowl and cup upon bare palms to cross the room. _Sit up, will you?_

Kíli reluctantly obeyed, nesting the porridge bowl on the coverlet so as to hold his tea with both hands. It was butter tea, another seldom-served favorite, proof positive of Fenja’s love. He swallowed hard to force it past the stone in his throat.

Seating herself at the end of the pallet, Haya gave her patient’s foot a shake. _You should have seen your_ nadad, _all dressed up in Thorin’s own mailshirt with a sword buckled to his back!_

_I didn’t see him go._

_You were asleep. He wanted you to rest._ Haya wrinkled her nose. _It’ll be quiet today. After last night, no one’s allowed in the house except our own folk._

Kíli thought about this. _No one,_ he repeated. _No one._

_What's that, Slugabed?_

He drained his tea and thrust the cup at her to free his hands.

_(No one can see me. No one except family, ever again.)_

These days, Kíli reserved his hand-signs for the strongest emotions. When he signed so crisply, it meant he was angry, or very determined, or both. But Haya equaled him in obstinacy and (when she felt like it) outdid him as a tease.

_So you’re going to hide forever in this room and get fat on porridge?_ she mocked. _Like Bombur you’ll be. We’ll have to roll you downstairs—_

_Nun’el,_ he said aloud— best sister. Then, in fumbling sign, mortification writ deep in his eyes:

_(They laughed at me, all those people. Laughed.)_

Haya gave his foot a tender squeeze. _Only I’m allowed to do that._ With her thumbnail, she riffled the pages of her book. _Eat fast, because I’m going to put you back to sleep. It says here that you can make blue paint by grinding up a special stone that is only found in Baraz’abad. Aren’t you glad Jera’s mother is here? I bet if we ask, she’ll get us all we want._


	2. Council

_(How I hate this place.)_

The lodge had been a sentinels’ barracks in the days of Thráin. After Thorin and Dwalin drove the last orcs from Khagal’abad, it stood empty until Dís claimed it as a hostel for visiting dignitaries. But however many comforts she supplied, nothing could entirely cleanse the place. Suspicion and hostility had mixed itself into the mortar and sunken into the stones.

_(It’s only one day.)_

So Fíli had scolded himself that morning. Hadn’t he managed _three_ days away, back in the spring? But his thoughts kept turning, turning, and he turned with them, looking for Kíli at his side, only to remember. The elders’ chatter taxed his nerves; the junior Azsâlul'abad delegate kept winking at him as if they were comrades. Mindful of Fenja’s schooling, he hid his irritation behind a pleasant – if stiff – smile.

What a pity that Gróa and Ghráin of the Iron Hills had been left out! They were twins— a rarity that Fíli would have liked to see. Harr of Forlindon and Stóin of Harlindon were like grandfathers to him; he thanked Mahal for their presence. Some of the other elders – Hala of Thafar’abad, caustic as vinegar; Forekhet of Baraz’abad, ominously quiet; and of course that winking fool Rurik – unnerved him to the bone. Still he smiled, reminding himself, _Thorin withstood this; I can, too._

The three senior elders –Stothrin of Gund’abad, Njoli of Khazad-dûm, and Navrin of Erebor – talked quietly amongst themselves, ignoring the assembly. Stothrin and Njoli vexed Fíli, but not half as much as Navrin, who had shown only disdain toward Thorin. Kíli, who could not hold his tongue to save his life, had to be banished from the room whenever the arrogant elder visited—

_PING!_

Njoli had flicked his finger against his silver goblet. _Your Highness? Navrin has asked a question._

_I believe the Heir prefers to be called Fíli,_ Harr rumbled. _Perhaps that is why he did not answer._

_Very well._ Proud Navrin drew his shoulders back. _Fíli. We have received news that Dain and his party have left Rivendell, heading west._

_I’ll be happy to see him._

_As is natural. But we wonder what you would have us do about your ascension._

_Why must we do anything at all?_ Fíli thought. He could almost hear his mother chide, _Because we must make them believe all is as they expect it to be._ And so he played naïve, widening his eyes. _My ascension? Are we going to Erebor?_

_We feel, my lord – Fíli – that it may be wisest for you to be declared King as soon as possible, even if we must do it here._

_But the Throne’s not here._ Fíli blinked as if confused. _And even if it were, the Crown’s not here. Dain is bringing it. He’s my cousin; shouldn’t I wait for him?_

_He speaks rightly,_ Hala reminded Navrin. _Dain is regent by Dís’ own request, and Kíli’s successor besides._

Stóin coughed. _Surely the Heir and his family will welcome our staying so that we may wait for Dain._

Navrin held up two fingers, and a bodyguard came to refill his goblet with water from a silver pitcher. Carefully, as if explaining a tiresome rule to a child, he pressed on. _Our people everywhere eagerly await their King. They have waited longer than expected—owing to your injuries, of course, and to the deferral granted to you by Ninur._

_Oh, yes, Ninur!_ Fíli strove to sound cluelessly earnest. _Why has he not come?_

_Ah, poor Ninur! I believe he is ill at home. One so aged as he falls prey easily to the cold and damp._ Navrin smiled knowingly. _But he sent word, of course— passing on his good wishes and desiring that we proceed in his stead._

_But I ought to wait for him, even more than Dáin. I need him. He’s my counselor._

_We give counsel, too, Your Highness—_

_So you do._ Fíli let a sweet, deliberate smile spread across his lips. _Even so, I’ll wait._

Suspicion dawned in Navrin’s eyes, mingled with a dread of appearing foolish. He snatched up his goblet in a fury.


	3. Homecoming

_Open._

Weighted down and weary, Fíli rested his forehead against the door jamb. An indistinct murmur teased his ears; a cough, a rustle, then a soft voice _: Who knocks?_

_It’s Fíli, Ori. Please let me in._

The oaken door shivered as the deadbolts slid free of their housings. It swung open a hand’s width, revealing a pair of mild brown eyes.

_I’m sorry,_ Ori whispered. _We're being careful._ He slipped silently through the narrow opening, took Fíli’s shoulders in his knob-knuckled hands and gently bumped their heads together. _You’re exhausted._

_Yes._ Fíli held onto Ori’s forearms. _Is he…?_

_Calm now._

_Did he cry?_

Ori dipped his head. _Yes; before._

_That’s all right. It helps him._ Fíli’s bleak eyes lifted to the ceiling. _I wish it helped me._

_I know what will._ A sweet lopsided smile. _Go in to him now and see how much better you’ll both soon be._

Inside, gravity and fatigue dragged Fíli off-balance. Steel scraped wood as he leaned against the door to shut it. He took in the cold hearth, the blue late-day gloom, the empty bed, and – with intense relief – Kíli before the altar. In turn, like a dormant fire stirred back to life, Kíli’s pallid face flared at the sight of his _nadad_ in full regalia.

_So handsome,_ he whispered.

_So heavy,_ Fíli groaned. _Take it off._

Once it had been Fíli’s duty to assist Thorin with his armor. It felt strange to take his uncle’s place now, standing still and patient as Kíli lifted his defenses away. Sword, baldric, hip scabbards, vambraces, surcoat, hauberk, undertunic, boots… Thorin’s gold circlet came last. It should have been first, but Kíli wanted to look at his _yasthûn_ wearing it.

When nothing made of metal remained, they came together, burying their faces against each other’s shoulders. It called to mind another homecoming, when Fíli took the stairs two at a time to be caught in a crushing embrace…

_(brother)_

Kíli smelled of skin and sweat and unwashed hair, a familiar, intimate scent that brought comfort to Fíli now. His afternoon had been spent in a stone prison permeated by flattery and connivance. Disgust clung to him like dirt. He could purify himself in the bath, but now Kíli was kissing his neck—

_(beautiful man)_

—and anyway, he couldn’t face those stairs again.

It felt so good to lie down together, they could have wept. Each vied to be the one to hold the other; Kíli prevailed, wrapping an arm around Fíli’s waist to hitch him close and comfortable. They settled in with a groan of relief.

_We’re to rest,_ Fíli declared. _Mother said so. She thinks we’ve had enough of company, and so do I._ He paused for a huge, jaw-popping yawn. _Do you feel better?_

_Nn-nnn… Nnn..._ Impatient, Kíli beat his head against the pillow to make the words come. Then he remembered what Tharkûn had advised: _If you lose the thread, leave it be, and you will find it again._ So he did, and it came true. _Now that you’re here,_ he whispered into Fíli’s hair.

_I hated to leave you._ Fíli pulled his brother’s hand up from beneath the coverlet to be kissed. _All day I was more with you than with the elders._ He shook his head, remembering. _I thought they would at least ask about you, Kílimê. But they didn’t even speak your name._

_Good,_ mumbled Kíli. _Vipers._

_You’re right; forget them. We’re alone now._ Fíli tucked Kíli’s hand under his tunic to warm it. _I just want to be quiet with you, and sleep._

By the time the candle flame succumbed to its own melted tallow, they were fathoms under.


	4. Schemes

_Why do we wait?_

_Because Ninur—_

_Again?_

_He is our leader and the King’s own Counselor—_

_He is no one’s Counselor, and neither are we. We are Kingless._

_Not so!_

_We may as well be. The Heir barely behaves like a Khuzd let alone the Lord of all Khazâd. He truckles with outsiders – with fur-feet, even! – and takes advice from wandering frauds._

_Did you see his beard? And his brother’s? Tradition means less than pebbles to this latest crop._

_Someone ought to confiscate their shears._

_Thráin would have gone further. He’d have confined them to quarters until they’d grown beards fit for their station!_

_As he confined Dís? Perhaps that is why the princes trim their beards; they have no wish to resemble their mother’s jailer._

_…who for all his faults was a King worth serving!_

_Let us not dwell on bygone days. Look to the future._

_How can we serve a King who spurns our counsel?_

_At least he’d listen to it before tossing it aside. Ironfoot wouldn’t even do that, remember. We were like gnats to him. He waved us away._

_He waved us all the way here. ‘Farewell!’_

_So he did, and I say better Fíli the First than Dáin the Second._

_Yet the latter may have the stronger claim. Whose son is Fíli? A commoner’s; not even a Durin’s—_

_You forget he is born of Dís. To overlook the mother is most unwise; even more so the daughter of Thráin. Ironfoot shall never mount the throne so long as her son has clear rights to it._

_She has two sons._

_Back to that again? You delude yourself with this nonsense. The second-born is unfit. Everyone witnessed it!_

_Not everyone. Only the Khazâd of this settlement, and such a gang of country fools as no one would believe existed, once they hie back to their mountain. We can silence them all with an oath or somesuch._

_Aye, we must… for the family’s sake, you understand._

_What about our people’s sake? Shall we give them a King who disgraces himself the moment the crown is placed on his head? He’s of no use to us, and there it ends._

_Brethren, for shame! Do you hear yourselves? Where are your hearts? You’ve known these boys all their lives, yet you talk of use, and of swapping one for the other like cogs in a clockwork! Kíli’s illness is a tragedy. Not a disgrace, not an inconvenience— a tragedy!_

_I agree. It’s exactly what I meant by the family’s sake— to spare them further pain._

_Enough talk— Dáin comes, and comes fast. Fíli is the Heir. If we do not wish for Dáin, we must have Fíli!_

_Aye! Fíli! He is hale and has his wits about him. We must do what is right for the people!_

_So say we one and all?_

_But without Ninur—_

_Cease your bleating! We nine have the majority. Ninur and the rest be damned. We must vote with one voice. Fíli?_

_Fíli._

_Yes. Fíli._

_Fíli._

_You know my misgivings, but if it must be, it must be._

_I second the concession, but I share the misgivings, and I want them recorded by the scribe._

_Very well. You?_

_W_ _e could do worse. I say we shall have Fíli._

_Aye._

_Aye._

_Then prepare yourselves for Erebor and the ascent of the King._


End file.
